Champagne Harassment
by AnimeSiren
Summary: Clint's never felt like a sixteen year old boy with his first breathless, sweaty palmed crush. Until now. Thor/Avengers


**Title:** Champagne Harassment  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Clint/Darcy, Tony Stark  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13 for Language  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>1,278  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Clint's never felt like a sixteen year old boy with his first breathless, sweaty palmed crush. Until now.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> My first fic related to the Avengers fandom at all. And one of the only heterosexual pairing I like! :P

_Enjoy_

**X-_X-_X**

Clint had desperately, sincerely, genuinely, earnestly _not_ wanted anyone to find out.

People had secrets for very specific reasons _that they didn't want anyone else to figure out_. Clint had a history. He knows that. He's not naïve. He is a middle aged man working for a government agency in a squad of superheroes. Clint _gets_ it.

Tony Stark, however, was occasionally on purpose more oblivious than the Hulk. And the man knew how to choose his audiences well. And he apparently knew how to make grown circus trained archers who had survived two wars on terror blush. These traits of Tony's seemed to actually be some of his favorites.

Two and a half hours into a SHIELD sponsored function Tony had sobered just enough to decide he was bored and that the astrophysics being thrown around weren't interesting enough to keep his attention. Pepper was nowhere in sight. Disaster was destined, truly.

He'd browsed the room, deduced who would be the easiest target, slapped a wide mouthed grin on his face, and had shouted "Barton! No staring at the research assistant's assets. Sexual harassment suits aren't as fun as they're advertised" half way across the room.

Clint had frozen as heads swiveled his way and then he had prepared for Taser induced electricity burns. Darcy Lewis, who he had been _discreetly_ observing, had turned around wildly, a gleeful look indicating that she was anticipating seeing what the fuss was about.

"Motherfuck my life," Clint muttered.

It took her all of four and a half seconds to realize which research assistant the Iron Man pilot was referring too. Her eyes widened the size of saucers and then Clint had gone red from his neck to his hairline.

_Escape plan, escape plan, escape plan_ Clint's mind had shouted unhelpfully. He knew all fourteen ways to leave the expansive room but instead he tipped the flute of champagne until it emptied into his mouth, swallowed and had shouted back, "I don't think you're the best person to take assistant based anti-sexual harassment advice from, Stark."

Clint winced. Not his best rebuttal, but considering the inebriated shouting match he'd had with Natasha two Christmas parties back it wasn't his worst rebuttal either. He had been certain that verbal evisceration Tony Stark style had been on the horizon, but it luckily hadn't.

Everyone was drunk enough that they took it for the entertainment it was and many of the guests chuckled; Tony leading the pack.

Darcy was still confused. Though, Darcy was also still drunk. Clint had watched her turn back to Dr. Foster and had only slightly winced when he heard her exclaim "Dude I didn't even know he talked. Like, I thought he was totally like those British guards with the tall hats, you know? All mute and whatnot."

She'd laughed and smiled, unaware of Clint's attention, in turn he'd left the room the next moment; Dr. Foster watched his retreating back with careful eyes.

X-_X-_X

There were eight hundred and seventy two rooms in the SHIELD headquarters. Clint knew this because there were eight hundred and seventy two air duct routes that all SHIELD agents were forced to memorize. Clint realized that this knowledge was so that in extreme situations there could be a ninja-worthy escape and/or rescue option.

However, if Clint's escape into the air ducts had been cut off less than three seconds previously, when Darcy Lewis had rounded the corner, calmly eating a Klondike bar.

It had been a week since the SHIELD attended gala and Clint had managed to avoid running into the quirky woman for that entire week. Alcohol may have been able to smooth things over at the gala, but sobriety tended to be the bad bitch when considering doses of reality.

Clint looked one last, mournful, time at the air duct just three feet above his head and sighed. One day he was going to find karma and punch karma in the teeth.

"Yo," Darcy announced her presence. Then she shoved her ice cream in her mouth and continued to stare at Clint like he was expected to say something.

He realized that, _oops_, he was. "Hello," he said cautiously in return.

"Good boy," Darcy grinned. She licked at her lips and when she grinned Clint knew, _oh fucking hell,_ that if was because she'd caught him following the movement. "So remember when we met?"

"Huh?" Clint answered, then reddened and said "Of course, SHIELD assignment to New Mexico."

"Mmhmm," Darcy took another bite of her treat and talked through it "Well you helped bring Jane's equipment back. That was nice of you. You even made sure the other government drones didn't break anything fragile."

"I was assigned to do so."

"Yeah, you try to be all professional now, champagne doesn't get people half as drunk as you might think."

"Jesus Christ you're mouthy."

"You knew that," Darcy grinned.

"I did?"

"Yup; which brings me to my second fact." Darcy balled up her wrapper and stuffed it into the bag hanging over her shoulder "That several months later we had an uber enjoyable conversation when you were assigned to escort Jane to New York where we had an intense debate about the merits of calling soccer football."

Clint coughed. He legitimately figured that if he opened his mouth at the moment the only thing that would come out would be a confused whimper. Darcy went on talking anyway.

"My third fact," Darcy held up three fingers now that her hands were free of ice cream "Is that you also drug Dr. Banner halfway across desert when the two of you were injured on that mission to that country that ends with –stan that I'm not supposed to know about."

"Then why do you know about it?"

"I was doing recon," Darcy smiled and rocked back on her heels.

"Is there a point?"

"Why yes, Agent Barton there is," Darcy grinned this time and adjusted her glasses. Rising up to her full height she waved a finger in the air like Jane liked to do when Jane lectured the un-scienced masses. "It is to say that I have come to the conclusion that you are a considerate, morally secure man whom I have the ability to have meaningful conversation with."

"Meaningful…?"

"Meaningful to me," Darcy clarified. "I didn't say it was meaningful to everyone."

"I see."

"Ah, I do enjoy when your eloquence eludes you, Barton!"

"Darcy, I'm not quite sure I follow your train of thought—any train of thought you ever have actually, but—"

"You want to go to the cafeteria and get some key lime pie for desert? They stop serving soon."

Clint sucked in a deep breath of air. He was so ungodly fucked, because he hadn't had a nervous reaction this bad since the first time he'd missed a target in basic training. "Didn't you just eat desert?" he asked awkwardly, motioning to the bag she had stowed her wrapper in.

"Nah. That was dinner." Darcy reached forward and tugged on Clint's arm, just below where his uniform shirt ended. Clint's response was derailed because Clint's eyes were zeroed in on where Darcy's hand was hooked around his arm. He was dead certain that she was trying to subtly _grope his bicep_.

Clint's mind might have gotten blown because his feet started disobeying him and they started to follow where Darcy was leading him instead.

His stomach flip flopped. "So, key lime pie, huh?"

"Yup," Darcy agreed "You and me, soldier. You'll like it."

"I'm sure I will," Clint admitted, not even pretending to talk about the pie. Then, he breathed out and relaxed. Darcy smiled.


End file.
